


I Could Not Keep Acting Tough

by wirewrappedlily



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, Established Relationship, Grief, M/M, Mourning!Stiles, Pack, Papa Stilinski steps in front of a bullet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 03:38:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wirewrappedlily/pseuds/wirewrappedlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles struggled slightly when they reached the exit to the building. "He's not alone. He's not alone, and neither are you." Derek whispered, taking Stiles's full weight when Stiles went limp between his hands, the sound he made inhuman and painful. "I know. I know." Derek breathed. Derek pulled him in again, curled around him, keeping them both on their feet even though Stiles couldn't find the will to use his muscles. </p><p>Stiles wanted to throw up again; wanted to close his eyes and never open them; wanted to have seen what his father was doing, stepping between Stiles and that bullet, and have stopped it. He wanted to kill everything and everyone who'd pulled him into this life--even Derek, maybe especially Scott. Stiles knew Derek would let him hit him; let him hurt him, because Derek knew what it was like not to be able to breathe, or think, or stop shaking. Stiles immediately wanted not to feel anger towards Derek for these things that weren't actually his fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Could Not Keep Acting Tough

O, what a prophetic soul he had. 

Stiles screamed like it was his soul being torn out of him; like he'd just lost everything, more than he could survive losing, and all that was left was to scream his throat raw in the gaping vacuum of a world that wouldn't spin on anymore. There was a tether pulling him up before he fell; a pair of strong arms wrapped around him, a pair of dry lips whispering against his skin, trying to convince him that breathing wasn't the last thing he wanted to, that to survive wouldn't kill him.

The only reason he hadn't fallen to the floor was Derek's grip around his chest; taking Stiles's weight like he was holding a child. Derek pulled him in, curled around him, and they sank to the floor together, Stiles's head between his knees and Derek's broader body covering over his back completely, his voice stirring Stiles's shorn hair but not reaching his ears. 

Derek's arms were folded over his knees, blocking Stiles's line of sight from the way Derek had him curled to keep him breathing. Blocking him from seeing the blood. 

Scott was calling for him: Scott, who'd had both his parents, even if his dad had left; Scott, who'd chosen Allison over Stiles so many times already that it shouldn't have surprised him; Scott, who'd heard him snap one night while listening to how Allison was perfection personified, heard him spew out exactly what Gerard had done to him, had taken from him. Scott, who hadn't been the one to climb through his window and take the phone away from his hands and pull him close and look at him like he was the most important thing in the world and that having had him in trouble like that was an unspeakable evil. Scott, who'd sided with Allison and her crazy fucking family. Her family that had just shot the last of Stiles's because Stiles had fallen for Derek the night he'd found the words to tell Stiles how sorry he was that Stiles had lost his mother, had lost Scott, was losing his father. Derek had told the sheriff with Stiles around the time he'd asked permission to date the sheriff's only son. The sheriff had loosened, he'd cared for Derek because he'd known that Derek was still really the sixteen-year-old that had lost everything in a puff of smoke the shape of Kate Argent; and now it wasn't just Stiles losing his family, but Derek, too, all over again. 

Scott walked on unsteady legs until he fell to his knees in front of Derek and Stiles, his hand stained red because he'd just killed the hunter that had shot the last of Stiles's family. It wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. 

Stiles tensed and struggled weakly, and Derek let him go immediately, helping him move over onto his hands and knees, retching up bile so hard he wondered if he'd break. Derek stood up, stood him up between gentle, firm palms, and didn't let him turn towards his father who couldn't be dead. Didn't let him do anything but shuffle forwards shakily, his gaze blank. 

It'd been his idea to team up with the hunters to take out the Alphas. It'd been a solid idea at the time. A good one. They had a united front, a greater threat; this was the way they worked towards fewer teenagers tortured in a hunter's basement. He'd hated it, but he'd talked through it with Derek--and he hadn't really needed to even convince him by then; Derek knew Stiles was right, trusted him and his judgement--trusted him implicitly. He knew Stiles hated the hunters: hated them for what they'd done to Stiles, for what they'd done to Derek. Derek had felt the rage in him and knew that it was real. Stiles wouldn't have suggested this if it hadn't been a last resort, and Derek listened to it all the harder because of that. Stiles had told the sheriff what was going down to keep him safe, to give him fair warning that shit was hitting the fan. Stiles had told Derek when Derek had told him to tell the sheriff that this meant the sheriff would be there. And part of Derek had hoped that it'd mean that the sheriff would keep Stiles from going out, but part of him wasn't surprised when that hope was dashed. 

Stiles struggled slightly when they reached the exit to the building. "He's not alone. He's not alone, and neither are you." Derek whispered, taking Stiles's full weight when Stiles went limp between his hands, the sound he made inhuman and painful. "I know. I know." Derek breathed. Derek pulled him in again, curled around him, keeping them both on their feet even though Stiles couldn't find the will to use his muscles. 

Stiles wanted to throw up again; wanted to close his eyes and never open them; wanted to have seen what his father was doing, stepping between Stiles and that bullet, and have stopped it. He wanted to kill everything and everyone who'd pulled him into this life--even Derek, maybe especially Scott. Stiles knew Derek would let him hit him; let him hurt him, because Derek knew what it was like not to be able to breathe, or think, or stop shaking. Stiles immediately wanted not to feel anger towards Derek for these things that weren't actually his fault. 

"I love you, Stiles, just breathe with me." 

"Stiles?" Erica was there, and Lydia. Isaac, Boyd, even Jackson. The girls were the first, folding on either side of him in the hug, Lydia willing him to be steady enough to survive. Isaac pulled him out of Derek's hold when the girls let go, hugging him fiercely. Boyd's hand rested between his shoulderblades while he was in Isaac's arms, and Jackson came to stand next to him, propping him up between Isaac and himself. Sirens were in the distance, Stiles realized dimly. 

"We have to get home." Stiles muttered through numb lips, through a cotton shroud that was suffocating him too slowly for him to die. 

They all knew and understood, Isaac and Jackson following Derek to the Jeep, Jackson switched for Derek as they climbed in the back, Jackson taking the driver's seat. Derek pulled Stiles against his side, Isaac laying his head down against Stiles's chest, listening to his heart. 

The pack piled in the living room, but Stiles went when Derek tugged him along up the stairs, completely pliant when Derek tugged off his clothes and helped him change into pyjamas, limply being moved when Derek laid him down on his bed. Derek didn't move to kiss him, didn't touch him but to get him curled on his side, get him into the position in which he fell asleep most nights. Stiles found the strength to move over on the bed on his own, his back to Derek and the room. He heard Derek shirk his clothes and root through to find the oversized sweatpants Stiles had bought solely for the nights Derek stayed with him. Derek sat on the bed at Stiles's back, but made no move to hold him, to lay down beside him. Stiles knew that that was because Derek had no intentions of sleeping; would stay awake at his back, breathing evenly and deeply in an attempt to lull Stiles to sleep--to give Stiles a metronome by which to time his own breaths--watching over him through the night, the pack filtering through throughout the night, so quietly Stiles wouldn't wake if he managed to sleep, seeing that Stiles was there, alive, and safe under the gaze of the Alpha. 

Stiles knew he'd get a phone call telling him his father was found dead; knew that Scott would be there before the morning. Would want to talk to him, either to promise things that Stiles didn't want to hear, or to beg his understanding in this stupid war that painted a target on his chest that his father had gotten in front of just in time for the bullet to fly. 

Stiles knew Derek wouldn’t fight him on remaining with the pack. Knew that now more than ever, Derek would welcome him in, bring them closer together, all of them. This was the only family they had left. Two orphans, now. 

Stiles wondered, though; about how Derek would deal. How he would cope. If Derek would feel guilty like Stiles had felt that hate towards him. He wondered if he could face the dawn. If he could really handle a life past losing his father. He hadn't realized quite how strong Derek really was, just to keep breathing. 

Derek moved as the thoughts flew faster and more violently through Stiles's head, slipping down on the bed and curling up around him, pulling his chest to Stiles's back and covering his heart with Derek's huge hand. Stiles's hands flew up to that arm curved around him, his breathing hiccoughing and breaking and sobbing all at once--or maybe for a while now. He clung on too tight to Derek's arm, his nails leaving crescent moons in Derek's skin, but Derek only pressed his face into Stiles's shoulder and held on. 

He was pretty sure he was still panicking when he was suddenly asleep, pulled under all at once, the black dreamlessness that he never wanted to leave. Derek was waiting for him when he did, though. 

Derek's eyes were bruised with shadows, his skin pale and his whole demeanour haunted. Derek urged him into sitting up silently, pressing a glass of juice into his hand and watching as he made himself drink it. 

"Food?" Derek touched his cheek, looking in his eyes for something, though Stiles couldn't tell what. Stiles launched himself forward, wrapping his arms around Derek's neck and tucking his face into Derek's pulse, knocking into him even harder when Derek's arm came up and wrapped around him in return, the pain between them shared, even if it was different. "Can you eat?" Stiles whimpered, shaking his head silently. Derek pulled him in around him, his pain and Stiles's mixing together until they were one and the same, "I'm so sorry." Derek breathed, voice broken. 

Stiles whimpered again, wanting to fold himself into Derek and never come out, wanting to steal Derek's strength. "I love you." He whispered against Derek's throat, "It hurts so much, Derek." 

"I know it does." Derek answered, "I know. Just stay here with me, Stiles." Derek laid him back against the bed, slipping under the covers with him and wrapping their legs together. Wrapped up as he was, Stiles's eyelashes began to flutter, eyes burning and headaching as the sheer heat of Derek's skin wrapped him up in too much comfort to stay conscious through. Stiles fell away again, into dozing half-dreams of his father walking in on them, his mother. What she'd say about Derek, how his father would tease him to get a rise out of his mother if they were a family again. Stiles's chest felt like it'd been shredded open when the thought surfaced that he'd never have his family again. 

When he woke again, Stiles had put the pain away: closing his eyes and screaming until it'd go away eventually. Derek stepped back and let him go, let him pretend that he could do what he needed to without cracking again, an unobtrusive sentinel waiting for the moment Stiles would need him. 

Funeral arrangements had to be made; far-flung family members called. Isaac smuggled in a bag of things for himself and Derek, Danny quietly putting himself in the position to do what Stiles needed done by someone else. 

He didn't know if he wanted to move in with Derek, or if he wanted Derek to move in with him; didn't know if he had the money for the funeral and everything after. He was silently agonizing over that when Derek folded his hands over Stiles's shoulders, "I'll make up the difference, Stiles. I'll take care of you if you let me." 

Stiles leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes, "I feel like curling up into a small ball on my bed and never ever getting up again." 

Derek kissed his hair softly, squeezing his shoulders, "I know." 

"Will it get better?"

"It'll never be quite the same, but it'll hurt less in time." Derek bent, wrapping his arms around Stiles from behind and resting his chin on Stiles's shoulder, "You helped me most. I hope I can help you, too." He admitted quietly, kissing Stiles's shoulder before resting his chin there again. 

"Can I bring you with me. We can make it like a love-in, only without the press. Or the massive glasses." 

Derek clicked his tongue, "I like your glasses." He muttered, smiling. Stiles's ears and cheeks flushed unwillingly and his nose wrinkling. 

"I never should have just worn the damn contacts while I was researching--" 

"They were dried out, your eyes needed a break from the contacts. And I _really_ like your glasses." Derek purred silkily, smiling despite knowing Stiles wasn't quite back to returning it. 

Stiles flushed even hotter, "Okay. I...I guess I don't have to worry about the reasons I was wearing contacts for anyways anymore. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. Just you." Derek kissed his lips softly, rubbing the backs of his fingers along Stiles's jaw. "But I will need to bring contacts with me." 

Derek hummed, kissing his neck, "I'm not leaving you alone at school, Stiles." 

Stiles hummed, laying his head back against Derek's shoulder so that his neck was exposed completely, "Stalker wolf." 

"I need to…" 

Stiles reached back, humming comfortingly as he stroked through Derek's hair blindly, "I'm alright with you being my shadow. I wouldn't get into this if I wasn't." 

The day Chris Argent showed up on Stiles's doorstep, Stiles knew before the wolves did, halfway to the door before Isaac was blocking his way and Derek was opening the door himself, eyes already blazing crimson. "I've come in peace. I want to talk to the boy." 

" _Stiles_ had his father murdered because of your people, Argent. I had my family murdered because of your sister. What on earth could you possibly say to that? What gives you the right to be here?" 

Chris's Adam's apple bobbed as he studied Derek's bulking demeanour, for once not puffing up himself to swagger it off. There was a humbled quality to him, and Stiles placed one hand on Isaac's arm, pushing him gently to the side to step past him, lingering just in view of Chris, but still in safety behind his Alpha. "I'm sorry for what happened, Stiles. I never meant for it to happen, and I would've killed him myself if Scott hadn't beaten me to it. You're human, and so is your father: it shouldn't matter what side you choose, and if he had been operating under the Code--"

"The Code that was meant to protect Derek's family? The Code that your wife threw away because Scott loved your daughter and she couldn't stand it? The Code that shouldn't have let your daughter capture and tortured Boyd and Erica, shouldn't have allowed your father to kidnap and beat me? Is that the Code you're talking about?" Chris looked as stricken as Chris Argent could, and Stiles's jaw hardened, his chin rising defiantly, "The Code is outdated and dead, Chris. It's long past the time when you could hunt monsters anymore, because you're turning into monsters yourselves. I may be on the side of the wolves, but at least the wolves and I still _feel_ if we're forced to hurt or kill. Can you say the same?" 

Speechless, Chris didn't quite gape, but it didn't matter, Stiles ghosting further into the house once more, letting Derek loom over the hunter, "Apologies don't bring back the dead, or even dull the pain when your family's been taken from you. Don't come back." 

Closing the door, Derek turned to Stiles slumped at the bottom of the stairs, tears running down his cheeks and his fists clenched so hard it'd be a wonder if he didn't draw blood. Derek knelt in front of him, looking up into his eyes as Stiles shook with tightly bound up rage, his eyes burning and his features twisting in agony that it was no use to hold back. 

"Stiles, let it come. Punch me, scream at me. I don't care. Just breathe. You and I will get through this together." 

"I can't t-take it. I can't lose...I can't lose you like this. I can't…" Stiles choked, and Derek was wrapping one arm around him, drawing him down a step and pulling him almost into his lap as he hugged Stiles hard. Stiles struggled, weeping. "I can't love you if you're going to leave me! I can't take this again! It's better being alone! Let me go! Let me go, I don't want this anymore!" 

Derek took the weak shoves, the half-hearted blows as Stiles screamed and sobbed, breaking in his arms. 

"We don't have anyone left, Derek." Stiles finally whimpered, "Just let me go and be alone so it won't hurt when…" 

"Nothing will make losing you any easier for me, Stiles. Do you really think being apart will make it better if something happens to me?" 

Stiles's hands curled in the shoulders of Derek's shirt too tightly, his grip painful. "It has to. I…"

"We are not alone, Stiles. We have our family in our friends. In our pack. In each other. You're the one that yelled at me until I finally got that." Derek cupped Stiles's cheek, wiping away tears as he kissed Stiles's lips like a promise. 

Stiles's wet lashes fluttered against Derek's pulse, his body melting in Derek's arms as the fight left him with nothing but pain and exhaustion. "I love you. Please don't leave me." 

"I will do everything in my power never to let that happen." Derek promised, ready to promise it and sure that he would keep it as best he could. 

Lydia snuck in the day before the funeral, replacing Derek at Stiles's back in his bed, curling up with her arms around his chest and her hair a red tumble over the pillow. "Hey, sweetheart." She murmured when he roused finally, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder. Isaac and Danny crept in quietly, Isaac laying where Stiles's body curled in on itself and Lydia's curved out, his head on Stiles's thigh; Danny sitting in front of Stiles, taking his hand with somber eyes. "Derek's been hogging the cuddles, hasn't he?" 

Stiles nodded, closing his eyes again. "I've been a mess, so I don't know why." 

"Because I love you." Derek murmured from the doorway. "More than these guys, even." 

"You're his favourite." Isaac agreed sleepily. 

"He definitely finds you attractive." Danny smiled at him, dimpling. 

"Alpha's pet." Lydia snorted, pinching his flank. Stiles snuffled, nudging backwards to knock into her lightly. 

"Don't hate me because I'm beautiful." Stiles quipped, actual laughter in his voice. 

"We love you, Stiles." Isaac told him in a small voice. "I want to be your family." 

"I already am your family, you have no choice in the matter." Lydia put in. 

"I've married into it, I'm stuck with you lot if I want Isaac." Danny groaned like he was just realizing it. 

"Damn straight." 

"Not really." 

"That was terrible, Lydia, that was so far beneath you it's almost something I'd say." Stiles scoffed. 

"Oh, my god!" Derek groaned in intellectual pain. "None of you are funny. Why did I get myself into this?!" 

"Because you are enamoured of my ass." Stiles answered like it wasn't even a question. "I am a package deal." 

Lydia hugged Stiles tighter, Isaac pushing his head up into Stiles's hand to make him start playing idly with his curls, Danny laying Stiles's other hand out flat to joke about reading Stiles's future, Lydia's small laughs playing over Stiles's neck and Isaac's snort of derision pausing his petting only so that he could look up at his boyfriend--immediately urging it back once he'd laid down again. They stirred as one, pulling Derek into the pile, Stiles lying against his chest, between his legs, with Isaac and Lydia curled up under each arm, and Danny draped over the end of the bed, tickling Isaac's toes lightly and smirking when Isaac kicked out to stop him, pouting. 

The ache was there, screaming in his chest. He knew it'd never be fully gone. He knew it would be with him, shrinking, but there, for the rest of his life. But his life had Lydia and Erica and Isaac and Boyd and Derek and even Jackson--beautiful, maddening people that made up his family in so many ways--in it, so living might even be possible.


End file.
